'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Peopling it with affections; but he found It was the scene which Passion must allot To the Mind's purified beings; 'twas the ground Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,[342] And hallowed it with loveliness: 'tis lone, And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have reared a throne. CV. Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes Of Names which unto you bequeathed a name;[22.B.] Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of Fame: They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame Of Heaven again assailed--if Heaven, the while, On man and man's research could deign do more than smile. CVI. The one was fire and fickleness,[343] a child Most mutable in wishes, but in mind A wit as various,--gay, grave, sage, or wild,-- Historian, bard, philosopher, combined;[ks] He multiplied himself among mankind, The Proteus of their talents: But his own Breathed most in ridicule,--which, as the wind, Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,-- Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne.[344] CVII. The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought,[kt] And hiving wisdom with each studious year, In meditation dwelt--with learning wrought, And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; The lord of irony,--that master-spell, Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear[ku][345] And doomed him to the zealot's ready Hell, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. CVIII. Yet, peace be with their ashes,--for by them, If merited, the penalty is paid; It is not ours to judge,--far less condemn; The hour must come when such things shall be made Known unto all,--or hope and dread allayed By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust,[kv] Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decayed; And when it shall revive, as is our trust,[346] 'Twill be to be forgiven--or suffer what is just. CIX. But let me quit Man's works, again to read His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend This page, which from my reveries I feed, Until it seems prolonging without end. The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er[347] May be permitted, as my steps I bend To their most great and growing region, where The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air. CX.